The Artist’s Struggle

This is the artist's pattern.

It’s what’s plaguing them late at night in the corner of a tavern.

A cycle of colors, a whirl of emotions.

It takes you out and brings you back in like the ocean.

It starts with the need to create. A glowing yellow gate; leads to the warmth of the sun.

Everything is fun.

You’re saying what you feel, and what you’re doing feels real.

For once you feel complete,

But just when you feel your feet on the earth.

You lose all sense of worth.

The gate is gone, the ember of the sun withdrawn.

The next stage is white and requires a fight.

It swallows you whole like the blackness of night.

But everything is visible, and your flaws are enhanced.

This is just the beginning of this dance.

There is only white and the chaos of uncertainty.

Will you make enough currency?

To exist comfortably in society?

The anxiety spans for eternity.

Suddenly you’re soaring again, green pines lifting you back to the sky.

It’s an addictive high.

Can you do it again?

The question is when?

You have to keep all these new friends.

But the artist's job is to do and do again.

So if it fails or not, it’s time to begin.